


Tomorrow Won't Do

by Blake



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Minas Tirith, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27413371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake/pseuds/Blake
Summary: Gimli destroys Legolas's immortal patience.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 12
Kudos: 152
Collections: Gigolas FuckFest 2020





	Tomorrow Won't Do

“Please.”

“Please what?”

Legolas grabs fistfuls of Minas Tirith silk sheets and lifts his head off his pillow to look at Gimli’s teasing smile. His shining red cockhead never looked so good as it did on the flat of Gimli’s tongue. He watches a small gush of white spread out across Gimli’s waiting lips. It’s a struggle to pull his focus away from it long enough to guess at what the dwarf wants to hear. “Please let me finish in your mouth.”

He thrums under the tight hug of Gimli’s cheeks closing around him, but he does not get to finish in that sweet, hot mouth. Gimli merely wets him with spit one last time before pulling off and moving his mouth lower. Legolas grunts mildly in frustration, but then sighs and accepts Gimli’s distraction.

Within minutes, Gimli’s distraction has him wet and speared open on his tongue, rolled onto his front only for more leverage to arch up against the slick of it. That soft beard brushes maddeningly against places that have no right to feel so good, and Legolas’s mouth runs dry at the sight, when he cranes his neck to look over his shoulder, of Gimli’s face and hands buried in and giving shape to his backside. He can barely scrape out the words, “Please, Gimli, your fingers.” But neither can he keep his body from clenching wetly around nothing, aching to be filled with that familiar, sturdy stretch.

“Hm,” is Gimli’s terrible and only reply. Legolas lets his face fall forward into the pillow between his arms, bracing for more of the same, and nothing thicker, for a while. He remembers that Gimli gets like this sometimes: intent on the drawn-out pleasure of feeling as much of Legolas as he can with his mouth until he’s nearly licked inside-out. Legolas wants his fingers, and more, but he will likely get them eventually, and Gimli’s tongue is an agreeable fate to be trapped under for the time being.

By the time Gimli has two fingers inside, Legolas feels sweat gathering at his temples. Gimli is criminally good with his hands; he seems to seek out bursts of pleasure with his expert fingertips, scraping flecks of gold from a stone, and he knows precisely when to stop to keep Legolas from completely caving in around him. No matter how much leverage Legolas gains from turning and digging his heel into the meat of Gimli’s bare chest to grind down on the artful jabbing and rubbing of those fingers, the pressure always retreats exactly when it is most desperately needed. His cock is leaking chaotically all over his stomach at this angle. Just looking at how pitifully hard it is and clenching down around the too-gentle petting of softened knuckles inside him is making him feel just a little bit frustrated.

“I want your cock in me, my love. Fuck me. Come inside me, my beloved,” he chants, trying to add some syrup to his strained voice, hoping something in his pretty language wins over his poetry-inclined husband. He wants to feel full, but even more than that, he wants Gimli to lose himself and abandon this apparent selfless effort to prolong Legolas’s pleasure beyond what it would be if Gimli’s fingers pressed into that spot just a little bit harder. It’s very thoughtful of him, but Legolas just wants to finish.

“What? You want me already?” Gimli asks, his beard and lips tickling on their slow journey up the length of Legolas’s thigh.

Legolas clenches down around his knuckles, trying to communicate that Gimli should know very well by now that it doesn’t take half as much work to get Legolas’s body open and eager around his thick cock. “Yes. Now. Please.”

“Now?” The melody Gimli gives the word is troublesome. The arch in his bushy eyebrow even more so. Most alarming of all is the fact that he pulls his fingers out and lowers himself once more onto his stomach between Legolas’s thighs. Legolas’s breath runs a frantic bellows in his stomach as Gimli licks idly across his twitching cock.

“Yes, now,” he pleads, bucking up for contact with Gimli’s mouth even though it’s not what he really wants. He needs _something_ , though, and he’s starting to suspect there’s more going on in the dwarf’s head than merely wanting to bring Legolas pleasure, which means _Legolas_ is the only one of them whose only intent is to bring Legolas pleasure.

“Patience,” Gimli says before suckling up and down his length. The word echoes ominously in Legolas’s mind, familiar in a way he suspects he’s supposed to remember something about, and maybe he’s just on the brink of recollection, but then the soft underside of Gimli’s tongue drives into his slit, licking so thoroughly it erases his thoughts as well.

And so Legolas finds himself sweating profusely, tilting up into Gimli’s mouth at any angle he’s allowed, maddeningly hard, terribly empty, unable to think of anything but how Gimli’s mouth could suck just a little bit harder, or swallow him down just a little bit faster, or how his hand could stroke just a little bit tighter. “Please, please. Please, Gimli, I want to—In your mouth, please. Fuck me. Gimli. Please.”

Gimli sits up then, and Legolas’s heart bursts in joy at the prospect of finally getting fucked so hard he spills across his chest. He probably won’t even have to touch himself. Just a few true strikes, and he’ll be _there_ , finally. He drapes his knees across Gimli’s shoulders and waits for him to undo his belt and maybe gather some of the oil slipping out of Legolas’s ass to spread across his own thick, pretty cock, and then—

But Gimli presses a gentle kiss to the inside of Legolas’s left knee, and then the right. He heaves his legs off of his shoulders as though they weigh nothing and then stands up, off the bed, moving _away_ from Legolas, and not _into_ him.

And he’s _smirking_. “What are you—Where are you going?” Legolas asks, almost mindless with want. He lies there, defenseless and pathetically thrusting into the air, and Gimli just looks down at him with his glittering brown eyes and wet lips. He can’t be as unaffected by the sight as he’s pretending to be. He’s hard, cutting a mouthwatering angle across the front of his trousers, and Legolas _wants_.

“I thought I’d do a little light reading,” Gimli announces, walking in his tented trousers to the desk on the other side of the guest room.

Disbelief fuels Legolas into a half-seated position, where he tries to make his outrage visible while leaning back weakly on his elbows. “What?”

Gimli picks up a scroll. He unrolls the scroll. Legolas blinks, and he’s still unrolling the scroll. “Reading,” Gimli answers. “After all, life is so very long, for a nearly immortal being—such as yourself—that one can hardly worry about the needs which might seem so pressing to mere mortals. There is plenty of time in an eternity for reading and—other things.”

Legolas feels his face growing so hot that his very breath burns, and he’s not sure if it’s from anger, embarrassment, desire, or some combination of the three. He swallows down his fiery breath and tries to remember whatever it is that he must have once said that Gimli is clearly spitting back at him. Did he upset the dwarf by saying something about not caring about mortals’ pressing needs? He cannot remember, because he’s still so hard he could burst, and he’s come painfully close to finishing at least a dozen times in the last hour without any lasting relief.

At least Gimli’s expression bears no trace of true bitterness, as far as he can tell. “I’m sorry,” Legolas blurts out, without really remembering what he’s apologizing for. He knows he has a habit of saying things he does not realize are insensitive until days afterward, when his cock is swollen close to bursting and Gimli is on the other side of the room with a haughtily raised eyebrow. “I’ll try not to say things like that again. Now please come here.”

“Now?” Gimli asks, making a long show of rolling the scroll back up.

“Yes, now.” But Legolas cannot wait for the scroll to be tucked safely away between those careful, thick hands. He hoists himself up and stumbles across the room to push the scroll out from Gimli’s grasp to roll across the floor. “Now,” he pants, bending down to kiss Gimli’s filthy mouth that still tastes like him and makes the world around them melt away. Legolas pulls back just enough to breathe in more of the flavor of him on Gimli’s spit. “I need you now. You destroy my immortal patience, Gimli. One look at you, and I’m a drooling, gasping mess. Please. Take me, now, and for all eternity.”

The rumble of Gimli’s laughter vibrates beautifully against Legolas’s lips, but his hungry moan when Legolas undoes his belt and takes him in hand is even more delicious. With a sigh of contentment, Legolas decides that being taught lessons by a dwarf is not so bad, especially when the reward is so sweet.


End file.
